Dialogue, 516 al-Elinima
Non-descript but well-appointed room. Only window overlooks a verdant but neglected inner courtyard. Gate into the courtyard is bared. All other windows are boarded or broken. This window too appears boarded when closed. From the courtyard the building looks abandoned and ransacked. It is night-time. Light breeze somewhat relives the stifling heat. House must be on the hill; lower city rarely gets the night breezes. Room is dimly lit by a pair of thick, white candles. Elderly gentleman of distinguished features stands in the window looking at the courtyard. Even older man sits slumped in gray leather chair. Pleasantries have been exchanged, silence in the room is awkward. Older man’s attire is simple but archaic. Most people would see only black vestments with subdued embroidery. A knowledgeable person would recognize symbols of his high office and even higher birth. A true expert would see more. Beside man himself, there were no other true experts in the city. He may have been a tall man once but he was always thin and age has shrunk him almost to nothingness. He stoops even while sitting, making him look even smaller. His head is covered by a cowl but it is obvious that he has almost no hair. His face is wrinkled but his skin is strangely smooth and free of blemishes. His eyes are sightless and semi-closed. Other man wears clothes of a well-to-do commoner. He too prefers black despite current fashions in the city. His only allowance to display of status are his gloves. They are tucked onto his belt now. Dark green. Color of his house. He is respectful towards the aged aristocrat but, despite his common attire, everything about this man says that he is used to command. Without trying, he dominates the room. He is not in the rush to initiate conversation. Slow minutes drag. Breeze plays with the candle flames. Eventually, the old man wheezes: - It is over. I felt his heart stop. The other one’s shoulders tense up. Even staring out onto the dark courtyard, his legendary self-discipline forces the passivity onto his face. He takes two controlled breaths and relaxes to his previous state. There is no emotion in his voice when he speaks: - That is not how I wanted it. - I know. I suspect Lorenzo knew it too. Nonetheless, it is over. You won. - Nothing is over. The man had three sons. His tone is definitive but there is something in the younger man’s voice indicating that he is expecting a challenge. He continues: - Were there any…. bedside pronouncements? - You are wondering if he made Orlando the heir? He did not. If he wanted to go out swinging he would have hardly chosen this course. Besides, who would have testified to that? None of the kids were at his side. - He died alone then? More self-control, more discipline. No emotion, no vindication. Just information and further plans. No weaknesses shown, not even to his allies. - I was there, as were few captains of dubious loyalty. He wanted you to know he is dead and he wanted you to know quickly. - Is it a trick then? A ploy? - It was Lorenzo so it was certainly a ploy. But a trick? Hardly. I can tell a corpse even without my eyes and I knew him almost as well as I do you. Besides, what would it get him? If he wanted to fight a rearguard against you in the Archipelago he would have left with the kids. - He stayed in his pretty house instead and there he died. If you are a fool you can send your thugs to ransack it. You are still liable to find the corpse. This diatribe took about all the breath the old man could muster. - So you still maintain the kids are out in the Archipelago? - I have it on the best of authorities. Your own spies say so. Three out of four are at least. Nothing is known about Silvester. - You have disturbingly good insight into what my spies report. The old man shrugged contemptuously. - You can easily find a leak if you want, but as far as intelligence goes this is pretty thin gruel. - Kids were on the Balthazar when she sailed on Gregale on the storm. It was next to last of their ships to break out. She was hardly sea-worthy though and we know that the plan was for her to rendezvous with Cicogna ship doing Marlavan router. - Does not mean anything. Lorenzo may well have known I have turned Cicognas. - He still put his kids on that ship, even if he did. Now, Balthazar was run by old Kelle. He could have attempted a desperate crossing… - He could have, except he did not, because we find Balthazar two weeks later half-adrift close to Ponyr rock. It was limping towards one of their pirate bases. Rather, towards where one of their pirate bases used to be. - That I did not know. I thought you caught him when he attempted his Cicogna rendezvous. - No. he gave Cicognas wide berth, which is why I sent the principal ships with Randolph to block the broad-way. I wanted him to try for one of their hidey-holes. - All of which you have already either destroyed or marked for destruction. - And he did? - He did. We caught them at Ponyr. Ship was wrecked to begin with and the storm they sailed on did them no favors. Kelle still managed to give us hell. Near sunk the Melody. '' - Of all of their lieutenants I regret not turning that man the most. '' '' - But no kids were on board? For the first time, the younger man looks agitated. - We would not be having this conversation if they were. - We did a number on the sailors. Both carrot and a stick. Their accounts are remarkably uniform. They sailed into a cove at night somewhere in the Archipelago. Little cargo was unloaded as well as passengers and the ship’s main pilot. Kelle took the ropes himself after that. - Obviously they were just the sailors so they could not tell where the island with the cove was and Kelle was good as shit at hiding his course. - In the end all we can tell is that it is somewhere up to week’s sail away from Ponyr which gives us upwards of three hundred known islands… - But only a handful ones with water, and you have been combing them ever since? - I have. I am pretty sure they were not on any one of those. Two options remain: - Either they are on a yet undiscovered private island or there was a mystery ship, unaccounted for, that was waiting for them on that first island that took them elsewhere. - They are somewhat short of “elsewheres” though. Your Randolph is still holding the broad-way and he sure as hell would recognize an unknown ship trying to make a crossing. Wondering archipelago they would hardly be in better position than on ''Balthazar ''except with a captain more dubious then Kelle. - Speaking of Kelle, you interrogated him I take it? - Damn right I did. He first laughed at me. - When things started to really hurt he began giving me random answers that took weeks to check. When we got him delirious, he just kept on rambling about “Illa ‘Scura” In the end, he just snorted on his own blood and died. - My man kept him alive for almost a month so I can hardly complain. I know your people could have done better but that would have been hard to arrange inconspicuously and besides I am not even sure if you would have been willing to help. - You were right not to be sure. I would not have. There is little to be gained for the rest of us in you putting your hands on the kids. This one was expected so self-control is easy. Nevertheless, measured note of disappointment in the voice: - Little to be gained? Orlando is his uncle-father’s replica. Do you all want to go through all of this again in twenty years? - First of all, there is no “us all” in this. Your fellow captains are still too fascinated and terrified of you to have any desires except yours in this matter. That will change though and when it does they will regret it and then they will blame you. - Besides, Orlando is not an heir. - Says you. The commoner is getting agitated. - For all we know there is a secret disinheritance document that Orlando will wave in the face of the captains and all of this will be for nothing. Old man stands up with some effort, leaning unsteadily on the edge of his chair. For a moment his presence outmatches that of the captain. - Of all the sorry lot which is the council this generation, you are the one I would have hoped not to be terrified of the second-born teenager with three gimped ships to his name and few specks of rock which survive only because you are still letting them do so. - It is no wonder things have come to this. Lorenzo had you all terrified out of your minds. You only fought him out of abject fear. - If you collectively had as much balls as Demiurge gave one Magyr woman you would have put him in his place a decade or so ago without any of this destruction and bloodshed. Even the mere fact that his second son ''resembles him is still making you shit your pants. Captain absorbs the invective calmly. What little agitation was in him is washed away. - You are right, we were… I still am, afraid. - We are not, none of us, gentle men. We deal in violence daily and we like to think we understand the theory and practice of subjugation and intimidation. We are all blushing maidens compared with old Domenigo or with Lorentzo. - Old man at least had inhibitions. To see the son let loose, with all that talent all that hunger and with nothing, no fear, no convention, to keep him in check. That was terrifying. - It goes beyond mere physical fear. There is madness in them, something worse than simple evil. I always felt that he can do greater harm to souls then he can to bodies or to property. Old man is slumping back into the chair. He allows himself a wry snort. - Pious talk for a merchant in human cargo. Then goes on, more seriously - I do understand you though, Lorentzo was in fact extremely dangerous. No, not directly to the city, for all your blandishments to other captains, he was too smart and too bored to ever want to impose himself politically. - In the end that was his downfall – you played politics better than he did and he knew it. - Danger I saw, and the reason I joined your little conspiracy, is that he relished, above all, putting people into impossible situations. It was a part of that elaborate sadism of his… - That is what created the risk, that is what created the danger. As long as people have something to lose they are easy to predict, easy to control. - There is, however, nothing as terrifying as a human being who is truly beyond all hope. The captain nods with appreciation. - I think you are right, I think you are right even if we discount the metaphysical argument you undoubtedly intended. - You think I am right and yet you traffic in slaves. I often worry about your organization - sometimes just marginally less than about Lorentzo's. - I know you for a pious man, even charitable, and yet you claim ownership of hundreds, perhaps thousands of human beings. You routinely assign them to pain or pleasure or death according to your whims. Isn't that the work of the Demiurge? Captain is calm without need for self-control, this is old turf of his internal sojourns. - First of all, friend, I have no need of absolution. Twice a week I swear in church not to do Demiurge's work and twice a week I would perjure myself if I felt that I need to do so for the sake of my house and family. - That said, however, I do not think I am doing Demiurge’s work, not quite anyway, though perhaps it is only so because Demiurge already did so well as not to need my help. Captain goes quiet for a moment. Distant sounds of the port can be heard, carried on the breeze. - Do you know what we cherish the most? Old man cocks his head as if he would fall asleep and relaxed his shoulders. Only close acquaintances knew that this posture indicated close attention, akin to a seeing man fixing their collocutor with their gaze. Even in the times of crisis he can’t resist philosophy. It is one weakness of his. Captain is aware of it. - We value mostly that for which we have paid the most. - I am not crass enough to think that payment in this context need be in gold and bone but the principle holds. Things, and people, by which we came easily are all too easily devalued, neglected and abused. Crinkles of suppressed laughter form at the edges of old man’s sightless eyes - So that is what you do then? By making Bardian pashas pay king’s ransom for your red haired beauties you are making them valued, pampered and cherished? - Have you ever been up the river, past the cataract in the highlands that breed these beautiful women and brave warriors whom we turn into livestock? It is a rhetorical question. No one of the old man’s standing would have been that far out of the empire in generations. There could well be some law against it as far as the captain knows. He continues without waiting for the response. - I have. Seeing it makes you think that the Donez serfs are spoiled with the fat of the land. - What little fertile land there was once along the Tierz banks has been turned inexorably into a gargantuan slag-pit. I do not know how Smelter does what it does but we can be grateful that they deposit their shit up the river rather than down. It is depressing sight. Locals call it the Desolation. - Absent Tierz banks natives live on the mountain sides, they tend to sickly goats and grow emmer out of rocky outcrops. - Have you ever had emmer beer your highness? - It is true that they do not have lords and masters but the sole reason for it is that if a master of any sort were to take anything, a fellow from whom it was taken would simply die. The people and their land are simply not productive enough to be worth subjugating. - Which is not enough to stop people trying it all the time of course. They steal each other’s goats. Goat raids; that is how they prove their manliness. Well, that and drunken brawls after too much emmer beer. - Goat raids are big though, these people compose poetry about celebrated goat raids. - So, if you are a man and big enough to be a warrior – and make no mistake, every kid dreams of being a warrior - your preferred fate is to die in a goat raid; impaled on a pitchfork likely as not. This is understandable, because second most likely way to go is dysentery. - If you are woman of course goat raids are out of the question so it is dysentery or childbirth that does you in. - It is not like childbirth does not reap its grim harvest in more civilized places too There is sadness in the old man’s voice. He does nothing to hide it. At his age he feels no need whatsoever for his companion’s expressive vigilance. - It does, but at least Church teaches us to keep our numbers low, and thus keeps our urges to rut like rabbits in check somewhat. - Up there, they have very little else to do in between the goat raids. It is hard to find a woman of child-bearing years who is not pregnant or nursing or, most likely, both. You cannot believe just how obnoxious this is from the business point of view. - Which is why you, contrary to popular belief, are not simply ambushing women and throwing them into cages, or even paying tribes for their war captives such as those are. - Yrzabel save me, no. We simply pay fathers of pretty 10 year olds substantial advances, with promise of even more substantial payments if they grow into their promise and are kept virginal up to the age of 16. - Substantial by their standards of course. - Of course There is no telling what old man is thinking, blind face is blank as a death-mask. - Let me finish it for you, do correct me if I am wrong. - In paying a minor fortune, by their standards of course, you are outbidding other most likely suitors for a pretty girl, who are after all most likely old and quite undesirable themselves. - Even if by some miracle girl was to marry a strapping lad of her own age, odds are that, having nor sacrificed much to get her he would not care for her very much. - In either case, her life would sink into the endless spiral of primitive unsatisfying sex, pregnancy and child-birth interspersed with back-breaking labour until either a birth or labour do not do her in, or failing that, dysentery. Younger man is nodding absentmindedly seemingly forgetful of his colocutor’s inability to see body language. - On the other hand, in your gentle care she has to endure a year or two in your famous “nunneries”, after which, if she is deemed satisfactory she is sold for a little short of king’s ransom to one of the few dozen Bardian bays or pashas who are jumping over each other at a chance to get one of your girls. - Pretty much all of those have sufficiently stocked harems and sufficiently limp pizzles, that worst she may expect from that sale is one or two intercourses annually and a life of relative tedium amidst enormous luxury. For a second, archaic term for the male organ hangs in the air. Maybe that *is* what they used to call it when old man was young? It was hard to imagine either way. Old man was just that, old. - It was Enrico Mastropiero who called them that. “Nunneries”. - Everyone treats the term as ironic now, of course, but he meant it without irony. He was simply shocked at just how a-sexual they were. - It was primness of the nunneries that kept him going for a while longer then he should have worked for me. Yrzabel, how I miss that man. - Rod is applied sometimes of course, but not more than one would in a family and probably fair bit less than they do in actual nunneries. - Really? What is the purpose than? - Our late enemy, and his family, have developed some of the most sophisticated methods of breaking human spirit since the age of the Demons. Even if I wanted I could never compete with them on that. - And do not get me wrong, there are times when those techniques are greatly useful. I had my men, my reliable men, rescued from them only to discover later that I can no longer trust them that terror in their hearts outmatches all loyalty and gratitude. - It is a sort of understanding that breaks one’s heart. - That said, for great bulk of cases, using Lorentzo’s techniques to train slaves is like using Garillian crossbow to pick teeth. - Think of it. Most people get fair degree of obedience from their children and wives, not to mention servants and other staff, at no more cost then occasional admonishment, rare praise and at worst a modest dose of the rod. - There is always a vague threat of worse of course but how often is that threat even formulated, much less acted upon? - All that we need for obedient slaves then is to give them same mixture of resignation and hope that sustain our families and ultimately even us. - And that is what you do in your nunneries? Create resignation and hope? - I do nothing. I rarely even visit. I do not think it is good for the girls to develop any sort of conceits about me. - What is done there is that they are exposed to strictly regimented lifestyle. - They spend a lot of time learning things, most of them almost certainly useless unless their buyer by some chance ends up having a fetish for knitwear or middle-imperial poetry. - They spend even more time cleaning, their space and themselves, over and over again. - I think I get it. Purpose is to make discipline and obedience habitual. - Yes, but without making it some sort of “breaking” ritual. After all at no point are they asked to do anything unreasonable… - They get a bit of free time. J - -ust enough to look forward to, but not enough to allow for daydreaming of any sort. - What most of them look forward to more than their free time though are their special lessons. - In sex? - In pulcherrima artes amatoria. - -Matrons who teach them are exceptionally skillful themselves. They are successful harem girls whom I buy back once they are too old for their pashas. - Idiots cannot conceive that they are paying me for the expertise I regularly buy back from them as they deem it next to worthless. - Lessons are at once, mysterious, rare and very memorable, although of course all the measures are taken to preserve girl’s virginity. - Aside from actually teaching them techniques idea is to condition them to sex as something truly exceptional, irregular and to be viewed with anticipation. If they are lucky, and some of them are, their pasha ends up not being as limp as you so vividly imagined earlier. - Your operation sounds positively charitable. Nothing ever goes wrong? - Things go wrong all the time. - Sometimes there is a young love back in the mountains and he and his brutish friends ambush and massacre my agents. - This is actually rarer than you would expect. More often girl is just not a virgin when we get her and it is then hardly worth sending her to a nunnery. - In which case it is a regular city brothel for her until your expanses are paid after which she is free to make her own way? - Sometimes they are just so incredibly stubborn that not even nunneries can help. - In those cases I simply sell them on to others whose methods more approximate those of our enemies. - Johan? - Yes? - Those matrons of yours. - Next time you are restocking on them – can you get me a pair? I will pay all the appropriate markups of course. It is Captain’s turn to offer a wry grin. - I thought you abhor slave-trade? - Let us say you persuaded me. I will grant them their freedom anyway. However, they may come handy for a little project I was working on in a last little while if I can persuade them to lend a hand. - Everything for a friend. I will tell Randolph to get you two of the very best. Bell rings in a corridor, both men fall silent. A girl of seventeen enters the room carrying a tray with two cups, several cubes of lokum and a cezve of darkest Bardian coffee – a newfangled import by the upstart Bartolini family. She too is blind, a congenital birth defect. In this house, however, she moves with confidence and agility. Neither man thanks her for the refreshment, she does not expect it. She does not even know if there is anyone in the room. Later, a different girl will come for the tray. Two men drink coffee in silence. Captain, whose name is Johan, nibbles on a lokum cube to cut the agonizingly bitter taste. Other man, who has number of names, does not. He speaks abruptly, before the coffee is finished: - Will you treat with Ludovic? - I know you would like me to and I understand your argument about the long term regrets some Captains may have if a family as old and distinguished is destroyed. - I am even willing to trust reports, yours and otherwise, that Ludovic is not unreasonable young man. - I will still not treat though. - What is best for the city in this instance is not what is best of Fugger family. - They will never forget that I hounded their father to suicide and that I brought them low from the heights that they are certain are theirs by right. As long as any of them live and have any access to means of revenge, no child or a grandchild or even a great grandchild of mine will be safe and likely neither will be the children and grandchildren of those who helped me and supported me in this matter. Captain pauses, there is an unfeigned moment of hesitation before he speaks again. - Let me tell you a piece of news. It is very recent so for once I may be ahead of the spies you have in my household. - You said that nothing is known about whereabouts of Silverster Contarini. That was true. Until this morning. - We know now with that he was never on the ship with his siblings. He is in the city, based, we believe, in the old city sewers, though some support from family loyalists in the city cannot be excluded. - Johan you worry me. A seventeen year old, third son, reported mentally unstable, and here you are, treating his very presence in the city…. At this point, against all expectations and in direct opposition to his carefully maintained and meticulously projected public persona, Captain Johan Fugger bursts into laughter. It is nervous, mirthless, staccato laughter aimed directly at the old man. It is intrusive, unexpected sound it palpably raises tension in the room. - Do you know Marielle Cicogna? - Debutante with nice singing voice? Not personally. It has been a decade or two since they stopped scaring young women by inviting me to appropriate social events. - On the other hand, Dominic told me that she is as pretty as she is empty headed. Old man Cicogna dotes on her. Why? - As it happens, at about two hours to dawn this past night, just as Lorenzo Contarini was dying, Marielle Cicogna had a visitor. - This visitor came from inside the house, and knocked on her bedroom door. She opened, ostensibly, and probably reasonably, expecting it to be one of house servant or one of her parents. - The visitor was dressed in full navigatorial finery, as if he just set off to take command of a ship. It is not something Marielle would have immediately recognized, however, because contrary to the parrot-green and red she would have seen her brothers wear or other garish ensembles that are popular these days this gentlemen-caller wore old fashioned diagonal cut cloak, doublet and breaches all dyed darkest, deepest indigo with subtle black embroidery. Apparently white shirt and the silver neck-clasp set with onyx as well as his own, relatively pale, face looked unnaturally luminous due to contrast with his near-black attire. - It says something, though I am not quite sure what, about young Marielle that she was able to provide us with such elaborate sartorial details. What escaped her attention at the time, however, was that the visitor was carrying two black bags. - At this point, I must regrettably express my doubts as to the veracity of young Marielle’s testimony. According to her, visitor rushed her from the door and overpowered her and proceeded, at the point of a Swinny knife, to force her into performing all sorts of acts unbecoming a young unmarried woman. - As it happens, by the best of our reckoning, young man was in her room for little over an hour during which time neither her sisters next door, nor a nurse in a room with them, nor a guard who occasionally patrolled the corridor, heard any sign of struggle. - Given how recently Cicogna’s were allied with Contarini I very much doubt that the young lady would have had political acumen to distinguish an illicit but rather exciting tryst with a highly eligible young man of her close acquaintance from a dalliance with a deadly enemy. - Regardless of young Marielle’s willingness, having spent inordinately long time with her our young visitor took one of his bags, and put on a different suit of clothes replacing it in the bag with his suit of finery. The second outfit was still very dark but, again according to Marielle, much more practical. - He pointed the other bag out to her, told her it is a gift for her and then elegantly jumped out from her window into a nearby canal. - Still somewhat stupefied by the just transpired events it took the young lady a minute or two to get up and unwrap her present. - This is the only moment of the night that we can time precisely, because her ensuing scream woke up not just the nursery and guards but pretty much every other living soul in the house. - When I say “living”, that did not include old man Cicogna. In fact, the bag contained his head, strangely unmutilated except for a fact of being cleanly detached from his body. It also contained his right hand, which was mutilated in a way which, I am told, signifies the oath-breaker among more traditional Donni. Old man is by now at full attention. This is news and unwelcome news indeed. - You are telling me that Silverster Contarini walked into Cicogna’s house somehow, under the nose of their house guards and house fixer, murdered and mutilated old man without anyone hearing a thing and then had brass to spend little over an hour having sex with his daughter before alerting the world that he has done it with barely a minute head-start on any pursuit? The hysterical laugher does not come out a second time, but it is there in the corners of Captain Fugger’s eyes. - There was no pursuit. - When Cicogna’s guards burst into the room, which was very neatly shuttered by the way, their first priority was to deal with the hysterical teenager. Their second priority was to search entire house from attic to the basement just to make sure there are no other Contarini assassins hiding in the provisions. Their third priority, and the only non-idiotic thing they did whole morning was to send for me immediately. - I will spare you the details of the vicious invective I received from the grieving widow as if I personally murdered her fool of a husband. I will also spare you the long list enumerating security weaknesses of Cicogna estate that my men supplied me with within an hour of arriving there. - House fixer, some Miroljub character, two hundred and fifty pounds of almost pure Volke, was certain I will just kill him outright so he was refreshingly frank with me. Yes, he has had Contarini sympathies and considered the Cicogna change of sides a base act of betrayal. No, he did not help of facilitate Silvester nor would he ever endanger his employers regardless of political disagreements. He may be lying or not, I may kill him or not, it is broadly irrelevant. - Aside from providing a theatrical exit, Marielle is likewise fundamentally innocent at least as far as letting her visitor into the house goes. - My principal expert tells me that likely as not he entered the house through the un-grated hole in the latrines and met old man in his office to which the later frequently retreated when suffering from insomnia. - There is about half a dozen competing theories, all equally trite. Captain takes a deep breath. - Point is, your boy of seventeen walked into the house of one of my most recent turns, without much at all in a way of difficulty and murdered him in a brazen and spectacular way. - For now we are keeping it very quiet of course. I will have to buy Cicogna’s all over again to ensure it and it will do me even less good then buying them in a first place. - Eventually other people who changed the side will hear of it and will start coming over to ask me what I am doing for their security. - And you will tell them you are catching the boy. - I am catching nothing. What do you think we have been doing for the last sixteen hours? - Boy, as you insist on calling him, swam the Tierz, currents and all – with ease born of practice. Several observers on the bridge stopped to admire the power and technique of his stroke. He, or someone quite like him, was later spotted in several places in the back-o-docks before disappearing. - Some further investigation pointed to him having entered the sewer system somewhere just north of that infernal pub with incongruous countryside name. - I won’t even ask you if you ever tried ferreting someone from those sewers. It is not like they are uninhabited. Tunnels are positively teeming with people it turns out. Problem is that the people come in two disagreeable varieties. - First kind wears rubber boots and face masks and, if they deign to speak at all, will instruct you that all your inquiries need to be addressed at guild-hall and presented in written form for consideration in due course. - Second kind consists of most despicable specimen of human detritus – actual shit eaters who live in the tunnels. They all look the same; men and women, skeleton thin and half naked, with scraggly hair and every pox known to man. They will sell you all sorts of information but you can only vouch for its reliability for as long as you are holding them by their scruff and good luck finding them again once you let them go. They gladly took our coin and sent us to more pointless shit wading then I wished for in a lifetime. If it were not for Vladimir, at one point I would have drowned in the slime myself when the floor suddenly gave way. I got the impression tunnel creeps have taken some sort of shine to the boy. - Vladimir is still there I take it? - I told him to bring reinforcements. The boy would not dare take on Vladimir by himself but who knows if he *is* by himself. Vladimir is still there and if anyone can find the boy he can. I am not holding my breath though. - I on the other hand had to deal with panicking Cicognas and make sure this stays contained; which is when the second shoe dropped. - And here I was, thinking that the death of the Lotentzo Contarini would be the big news of the day. Old man allows himself only a slimmest hint of irony in his voice. It has the calming effect on the captain. He takes a breath and the legendary self-discipline reasserts itself. - It is. It is my friend. I do not want to sound ungrateful for both your help and the news you brought me. I have won. *We* have won. Nonetheless, I am still nervous, very nervous. This boy, this Silvester… not only did he get close enough to murder a Navigator in his own home. He managed to mock us… me about it. - Back at Cicognas’, with some help from young Marielle, who at least had a good insight into her father’s habits, I was making the need-to-know list of the household staff and sequestering those already in the know. This is where I met the Cicogna notary, a useless little lump of a man who held a position by dint of undeserved imperial legal degree and having had a daughter knocked up by one or both Cicogna juniors. - As it happens, this paragon of legal profession also acted as Cicogna’s personal secretary and frequently received mail on his master’s behalf. - He was still making his slow, myopic way through yesterday’s mail when he discovered, inconspicuously slipped between some irrelevant bills of sale but nonetheless with incontrovertible receipt acknowledgement, a scribbled letter from one Silvester Contarini. - So boy managed to slip in the official Preavvisio di Vendetta without raising the alarm. Good on him. Of all people I would expect you to appreciate that. - Whether it passes for official preavvisio is questionable. Boy claimed to be most senior family member in the city due to his father’s incapacitation and thus entitled to make the Declaration but if your information is correct and Lorentzo only died today… For the first time in the evening, old man’s sightless glare is full of nothing as much as scorn. - Contarini causa ''against the Cicognas are impeccable. If you actually turned the council into so many trained monkey as to invalidate the ''preavvisio on the technical grounds you may as well just stop caring about your ludicrous code entirely. It is all null under imperial law anyhow. - Besides, what does it matter, you already have well attested vendetta against the Contarinis going yourself. What does it matter if you kill the boy or if the council strings him up for murder? It is not like they would do anything other than wait for you to fish him out of those tunnels anyhow. - We are all murderers many times over under imperial law, which you and your kin never enforced here in any case. If there is to be any order at all to our affairs, we need to at least adhere to our own traditions. - You are right, however. It is little matter whether Silvester's preavvisio is official or not, it is it's content that concerns me. Captain pulls out a document from his doublet, it is several pages of thin vellum bound together. Thin, spidery handwriting in neat lines does give it a look of bill of sale or a shipping manifest. - I will read it to you. You can have it afterwards if you want Dominic to pour over it. "On the thirteenth of Gregale... Due to indisposition of my father... Many injuries culminating in... No other recourse..." blah blah. - First part is a genuine, if sloppily drafted, preavvisio. It gets interesting on the second page though. From that point on is addressed to me, you see. The old man cocks his head in anticipation again. Once more, literary curiosity overcomes the sense of urgency. Captain resumes his reading - "...to be delivered to the hands of one Johan Fugger who, for the foreseeable future, will be conducting the affairs of Cicogna family..." - I hate to make him right, but there is no other option. Two sons are positively useless for anything other then fucking and sailing. Longer I keep them at the sea the better. It will have to be full clientage, with all expense and bother that entails. And here he starts: - "...my deepest regards. It is a strange honor to, at last, be addressing the man whose example did more to educate me, and my siblings, than those of our own illustrious forebears. It is not an exaggeration to say that since our earliest awareness we were taught to observe and study you, to note your methods, your attitude, even your poise and appearance. Well before breakout of the direct hostility between our families, your extraordinary qualities were recognized by those in charge of our education…” - “Of particular interest to all of us was your attention to personal defense. We noted the carefully concealed bits of personal armor during public appearances. We observed your acute awareness of the presence and locations of Janos and Vladimir even at the moments of ostensible relaxation and merriment. We admired the system of waiting rooms and corridors inflicted on your clients and other visitors.” The conclusion derived by all four of us, and undoubtedly by our father as well, was that, barring some spectacular personal betrayal, you, and your family, are functionally impervious to assassination. Further corollary was that, to enhance our own personal safety, we could do much worse then to copy your methods. - “I believe that this was the extent of this particular lesson as far as my siblings were concerned. Discipline, awareness and lack of self-delusion lead, among other things, to high degree of personal safety. “ - “For me, however, this observation was just a preamble. Your methods, for all their efficacy, are not in any way ingenious. Being suspicious, vigilant and cautious are not novel concepts. The fear for one’s personal safety, likewise, should come naturally to anyone with a shred of awareness of the attitude and proclivities of our social group even in the times less stressful the present.” - “Why then, I asked often asked myself, is Johan Fugger such an exemplary exception to us all? Even my own father, who was certainly well aware of your methods, often failed to adequately follow them, trusting instead in a dose of fear that our family tends to generate.” - “You would probably consider it unworthy of a Contarini if I told you how many times in my youth I was scared stiff through realizing that our defenses at the moment are inadequate and that Vladimir and a handful of Fugger marines could be breaking in at any point to end our vendetta at a stroke.” - “Why, I wondered, would someone as admirably intelligent as our father fail to always follow the same common sense precautions that you adhere to with apparent ease. In the end I convinced Orlando to play a game with me. I was to be Johan Fugger for a week and he was to be Vladimir. Rea wanted to join us and play Janos but as ever she gave up after a few hours.” - “Orlando and I, however, persevered. Every time we went out – this was all some time ago and we did still all go out more or less normally – we did it as if assassins lurk at every corner. Hanging out with friends, going to play with the girls, it was all done is if anyone not immediately related to us is plotting our violent demise.” - “I will not exaggerate if I say that that was the most miserable week of my life, last few months not excluded. Not only was all the joy sucked out of few fun activities that we attempted, even our serious work suffered gravely as we barely had any focus and energy left to dedicate to it. Even father, never the most solicitous of people, inquired if we were feeling sick by mid week. The end of the week, and our experiment, felt like being released from a brig in the aftermath of a particularly nasty storm.” - “Orlando wanted to continue, pain notwithstanding – for him the purpose was simply to get better at being like you – but for me, the goal was accomplished. I realized that people, our father included, do not behave like Johan Fugger because people, my brother Orlando being a possible exception in a particular frame of mind, have not a fraction of your self denial and self discipline, much less your panache in pretending at a lack of need for self denial and self discipline.” - “This brought to mind the old saying that people will believe what they wish to be. There is nothing that we wish for so strongly as our personal safety and the safety of our families. This wish and the belief it engenders is what makes a locked door an impassable barrier in our minds, what turns a bored body-guard into a guardian angel of near-divine capacity to avert harm, what makes parties and gatherings of friends into places or merriment rather then potential death-traps that they are. We even entertain ourselves by stories of fanciful and elaborate murder plots, so as to banish assassination into the realm of high art and not something that any desperate man with a shank can do, to almost any of us, at a moment’s notice. As inured, as we all are to abstract, distant, violence committed in our name we all pretend that violence in our midst is exceptional, rare and dependent on extraordinary physical and intellectual skills. Furthermore, I realized it is the very ubiquity of this pretense that keeps the violence in our midst exceptional, rare and dependent on extraordinary physical and intellectual skills.” - “As you can imagine, the very next thought I had was that even I, young boy as I was then, could go ahead and murder almost any single person in this city, no matter how important or ostensibly well protected, with notable exception of you and possibly irrelevant recluses like our Duke-Mayor. By being so good at being Johan Fugger you opened my eyes to just how unique Johan Fugger in fact is.” - "As the conflict between our families intensified, and as our position got worse I often thought back on my epiphany. The only person I really wanted to murder was the only person in the city who had shielded himself from the sort of casual assassination that I felt myself capable of performing" - "This realisation was weighing ever more heavily on me as I watched our father grow ever more resigned in his acceptance of defeat. It all came to a head when I was told that four of us will be leaving the city for a dubious safety of one of our bases in the archipelago." - "First of all, I doubted and still doubt that there is such a thing as a safe place in the archipelago and secondly, I doubted that we will ever reach it notwithstanding the unquestionable loyalty and skill of a man like Edward Kelle. Finally I reckoned that what little advantage I have from my understanding of human self-deception will disappear in the archipelago. Violence is not wished away in the archipelago the way it is in the city. Violence in the archipelago is real, everyday and people account for it or succumb." - "I therefore gave slip to my father's men - the ease of it speaks volume about how well you depleted our resources - and was waiting out the tide and pursuit in a little nameless old city dive. For the first time I was in the city as a non-entity, non-navigator; for the first time in my life I was entirely alone." - "I will not pretend to have been entirely immune to self-pity at that point. I even had a brief urge to sneak into the old ruined cathedral and pray for salvation and safety of my sister and brothers. I fought it off, however, and as the despair left me, a second epiphany occurred." - "Our self-deception keeps us vulnerable, but what makes us vulnerable in a first place is the need to maintain our presence in the world, our shroud as it were consisting of our family, properties, titles and dependents that make us who we are. I can walk into the house of Alberto Cicogna and slit his throat because I know that Alberto Cicogna must be in his house. If he were not, before long he would cease to be Alberto Cicogna and would become nameless, faceless itinerant of no consequence." - "At the same time I realized, in your efforts to defeat us you have acquired a large shroud indeed." - "My course forward was clear". - "Tomorrow, after delivering this letter to his myopic notary, I will walk into the house of Alberto Cicogna. I will enter through a poorly locked door or a window. I will use well known fact that his guards got paid yesterday and will therefore still be hungover by tomorrow. I will walk down to the office where Cicogna likes to pretend at working while nursing his brandy and will slit his throat before he can say a word. Only afterwards will I work to create the atmosphere of cruelty and punishment. I then may, or not, fuck his pretty daughter.” - “In case you care, fucking his daughter is not a part of the revenge. Bint fancies me and I believe this will be last opportunity in a while to consummate. I have somewhat unusual taste in women according to my family” - By which he means he prefers them willing even if unrelated - Yes, I gathered that much. You can skip the rest of the sexual bits. Does he do much more then wave his organ around? - As you pointed earlier – he is a teenager. They are somewhat prone to bluster about both their marital prowess and sexual conquests. There is a distinguishing element here though… - In that he actually did murder Alberto Cicogna and deflowered his daughter, yes I noticed. - It is not just that, he is in fact right. - About how horrendously easy it is to kill a Navigator? - About how dangerous a man with literally nothing to lose is. If you read his missive to the end you will see that he seems to truly believe that his siblings are dead or captured. Whatever trick was entrusted to Kelle, was obviously not shared with the young ones. - That makes his deed even more impressive. Contarini crumple when severed from the rest of the family. If he is anything like the rest of them – the kid should be suffering from deepest despondence right about now. And yet… - And yet, there he was, murdering old Cicogna and consummating with his daughter… - Dangerous. - You can say that. He concludes the letter by telling me that in a few weeks or a month or two – when the noise about old Cicogna has died down he will go and do something similar to another house that betrayed them and will keep going down the list until I catch him or until he drives me mad. He even insinuates that I am not getting any younger and that Randolph is unlikely man to run the sort of security I do. - That last thing is nonsense – Randolph will inherit Vladimir. How long has it been since you personally managed your defenses? - I am not too worried about Randolph. There is more my boy then meets the eye, and yes, he will have Vladimir for many more years then I will be about. But others are vulnerable. If we do not catch the little shit Cicogna will not be the last to die. - It will cost a lot to protect them all and for every death, people will be wondering about the benefits of my friendship. - That is just the sort of atmosphere in which I cannot afford to have Ludovic and or Orlando return as full-fledged navigators… - Nonsense again, it is your hatred and fear speaking. You said it yourself, kid is dangerous because he is desperate. Negotiate with Ludovic – give him his family back – once he has something to live for again he will not be pursuing this insane course of action. Hell – he would probably desist purely on basis of Ludovic’s order as long as he is convinced that Ludovic has some freedom of action. - Make no mistake though. Longer you delay talking, more insane Salvatore will become. I have known people who have spent some time in those tunnels. They are dangerous for one’s soul – even if you are not a teenager who believes that he has just lost everything and everyone he ever had in the world. - I still wonder how he has got to know those tunnels. But it is no matter. There will be no negotiation. We will ''eventually catch the kid and in the mean time I will pay what it costs to protect the traitors and turncoats from their own incompetence. In the meantime, Randolph ''will find the rest of them. I will have this whole affair well wound up well before Randolph’s wedding…. The almost imperceptible break following “before” does not escape the old man. - Before you are dead is what you mean to say. - How long have you got? For the briefest moment old captain contemplates lying. He shakes his head and answers. His tone is cross. - Where did you hear that from? No one has spies that good, unless… - Do not worry, it is not your physician. Young Allioro loves you like a father if not more. I could not suborn him any more then you could have broken Kelle. - Then how did you know? - I did not know, but I have studied your family history and I can hear you breathing. As a very young man I had some training as a medicus myself. It is handy knowledge to have for people who play our kind of games. - I assume your condition is not acute, otherwise we would not be having this conversation? - Allioro assures me that I have two or three years at least, possibly as much as five. More than enough to wrap up the Contains and make sure that Randolph can find his way around a marriage bed for sufficiently long to produce heirs. - I am sorry. - I am not. Dotage never particularly appealed to me. I just hope that I get to wrap everything up. I hate unfinished work. - I understand. No negotiation then? - No negotiation. - This is probably the last time we meet like this then. As far as the city is concerned, this affair is settled with Lorenzo’s death. Your further vendettas are private matters. - It is for the best, but I will miss these talks your grace. Most people in this city underestimate you gravely, I learned a lot… - It was pleasure working with you as well Master Fugger. I am sure we will see each other many more times at formal occasions. - One more thing your grace, if you would be so kind… - Yes? - Please never tell Randolph I said there is more to him than meets the eye. Old man’s sightless gaze is fixed on the gothic spires of the crumbing cathedral. He listens to the receding squeaks of leather boots on the wooden floor while slowly sinking into unconsciousness. For almost a week he has driven his frail body with intensity more befitting a thirty year old. He will be ill tomorrow. Perhaps a day after that as well. Even so, there will be no respite. Salvatore Contarini was a new factor to consider. A competent desperate young man in the bowels of the city. He will have to be found, one way or another. His senses will have to be dulled – certain kinds of his senses at least. Old man knew just a method for it but he still had to find someone to execute it…. He allows himself a moment of weakness as he acknowledges just how much remains undone, particularly with Fugger refusing to negotiate. Then the longed for unconsciousness comes and, for several hours at least, no one watches over the City. Epilogue: Over the course of next 18 months, Salvatore Contarini murdered five heads or principal heirs of Navigatorial families that have betrayed his house in the preceding years. As he predicted, despite relatively mundane methods he used, his fame as a near-mythical assassin grew dramatically, making him one of the most feared and, secretly, admired characters in the city. As time went on, efforts of Vladimir and other Fugger men narrowed his windows of opportunity but his own secret hideout in the Old City sewers was never found. Some of his later successes against ostensibly impossible odds were attributed, by some, to a potent focusing narcotic to which he became increasingly addicted. Johan Fugger died 18 months after this night from hereditary kidney failure. Cause of death was confirmed by a number of physicians and eventually accepted by both his heir Randolph and, independently his trusted bodyguard Vladimir. Only dissenter was Alioro Spizzo, Fugger family doctor. Spizo confirmed that the Navigator was operating with only part of a kidney for a number of months but maintained that his relatively sudden death did not follow familiar patterns of deterioration. In the absence of any alternative hypothesis, however, Alioro’s protestations were dismissed as grief of a physician after a patient who could not be saved and who was also a dear friend and benefactor. Several months after his father’s death, through the covert services of Duke Mayor, Randolph – a new head of the Fugger family – opened top secret negotiations with Ludovic, young head of the Contarini family in exile. These negotiations would drag for almost a year and resulted in surrender of a better part of Contarini routers, connections and real-estate – in form of restitutions - in exchange for the reduced but legal position back in the civic hierarchy. Even though Silvester eventually reunited with his family, old man was correct in predicting that the long lonely exposure to the underground left permanent mark on his sanity. Old man himself, outlived Johan Fugger by almost exactly three decades. Those who knew him claimed that it was only possible by extraordinary, but near permanent, act of will. His death, when it came, was painful but welcome.